


Challenges, challenges

by AnnaBolena



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Ben and Caleb are idiots, Getting Together, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious gay revolutionaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 08:44:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14351979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaBolena/pseuds/AnnaBolena
Summary: "If you are ashamed of what we did then that is one thing. But I certainly wasn’t deep enough in the bottle not to know that it was exactly what I wanted."a.k.a Ben and Caleb are dumb and don't use words when they really really should





	Challenges, challenges

"I’ll be here, Tallboy," he almost sings, "Whenever you’re ready."

Plink. One pebble hits the tin. Another one misses. On and on it goes.

Ben lasts for just about an hour after Caleb starts tossing pebbles at a can in his tent.  
After Caleb had strolled in with a bottle of Madeira and announced he was in the mood to celebrate, Ben had brushed him off and claimed he was too busy to get drunk. _Washington expects my reports in the morning_ , he’d said primly. His best friend had smiled a little too readily for his liking, and had promptly thrown himself onto Ben’s small cot. Carefully, Ben had set down his quill pen and turned around to look at him questioningly. One grin later and two arms folded casually behind his back, Caleb claimed he would wait for Ben to finish.

He hadn’t expected Ben to last. Ben wasn’t sure if he got it from Caleb or if his pride had always stood in the way of bowing out gracefully. A challenge is a challenge. And Caleb has made it very clear that he does not expect Ben to finish the report tonight.

They’ve always gotten themselves in too deep because neither man can refuse a dare. When seven year old Ben told fourteen year old Caleb he couldn’t climb the highest tree in the forest of their sleepy little inlet, Caleb made sure to get to the highest branch. It snapped under his weight and Caleb almost plummeted to the ground. But he held on and declared victory. When Caleb later told a fourteen year old Ben that he couldn’t hold his liquor, Ben had downed the drink in defiance, eyes burning and throat bobbing as he fought the urge to throw up for hours afterwards. Some things never change. But this is unbearable.

"Would you stop that?" He asks, trying not to clench his teeth. Perhaps he could have taken the sound of the pebbles alone. It is not as though the rest of the camp is silent around them. But the combination of the pebbles and Caleb’s gleeful sounds whenever he sinks one is too much.

"Am I botherin’ you, major?" Caleb doesn’t look at him when he answers, but he is pleased.

"I can’t hear myself think." Ben pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes blinking rapidly to stave off some of the exhaustion threatening to overtake him. He wants to give in to Caleb’s offer. If Caleb thinks that Ben enjoys working well into the early hours he errs greatly. The bottle on Caleb’s belt calls to him, beckons him to give in. "This needs to be done by tomorrow, Caleb," he insists. He hears Caleb get up with an exaggerated groan. For a second, he thinks Caleb will stagger off, ready to engage someone else in the drinking contest he is obviously vying for. Instead he feels the Lieutenant’s hands drop onto his shoulders, eyes peering onto the report-in-progress. "Let’s see what you’ve got so far then, Benny-boy," Caleb’s voice is close to his ear as he leans forward, hands digging further into Ben’s area of greatest tension. Ben tries to fight the goosebumps, glad that Caleb can neither see nor feel them beneath his multiple layers of clothing.

"Looks good to me," Caleb declares after he has skimmed the report.

"Of course it is good." Ben rolls his eyes. "The issue isn’t that it isn’t good but rather that it remains to be completed. Have you not heard anything I’ve said?"

  
"Tell you what, Tallboy," Caleb prods, "You take a small break, close your eyes for a few minutes, and then you’ll get back to writing that dreary report." His suggestion is supplemented by the way his fingers slip a little under Ben’s coat, just barely, working muscles that have been strung tightly for weeks or months or even years. It is tempting, Ben has to admit. He wants to close his eyes. He wants to lean his head back and enjoy Caleb’s ministrations. He wants Caleb’s hands to travel lower, lower still until-

  
_No_ , a voice in his head reprimands Ben, stopping the trail of thought that has already brought a blush to his cheeks.

"If I close my eyes now they will not open until the morning," Ben dismisses, trying to shrug Caleb’s hands off. He gets a chuckle in response.

"Well then let’s at least make you a bit more comfortable, eh major?"

Deft fingers begin to loosen his neckerchief and Ben grits his teeth when he feels Caleb’s fingers on his bare skin. War has kept him busy the last few weeks, too busy to silently take care of what needs to be done and now Ben is forced to deal with the consequences, among them impure thoughts about his best friend for one, but also inappropriate reactions to innocent touches. Caleb is drunk, so his fingers wander more than they would if he were sober. He has helped Ben do battle with the odious piece of cloth more often than he can count. Never has it seemed so intimate, so much like undressing, so much like revealing more of Ben than he bargained for.  
The neckerchief finally falls away and for a second Ben both hopes this will be the end of Caleb’s touches and wishes that he will never stop.

"How’s that, Benny?" His voice is jovial and fully unaware of the turmoil that rages inside of Ben.

"Much better, thank you." Ben clears his throat, picking up the quill pen to commence writing again, anything to distract from Caleb’s proximity. Caleb just laughs and retakes his place on Benjamin’s cot. Ben resists the urge to take a few deep, calming breaths. Trying to quell misplaced desires turns out to be a wonderful motivator to finish his reports, Ben notes sardonically. A challenge is a challenge, after all.

"You know, Ben, you really need to dip your wick into something sweet," Caleb tells him off-handedly when he folds the report carefully, completed at long last. Ben freezes for a second, looking over his shoulder at Caleb, who lounges comfortably, staring at the tent wall above him with keen interest. Did he notice Ben's reaction to his touch? Could he have noticed?

  
"I never understood why you took such a keen interest in my virtues, Caleb," Ben forces out a laugh.

  
"Brotherly concern, Benny boy, not much longer before you go blind from boxing the Jesuit night after night," Caleb laughs bawdily.

"Oh dear," Ben responds in a dry tone of voice that makes Caleb grin whenever he hears it. "As it is, Caleb, in the interest of preserving my eyesight I have also forsworn my own hand."

He expects that to get a laugh out of Caleb, but the other man looks deadly serious. "Christ on a pony, do you want your nutsack to explode?"

  
It only takes a second for Ben to realize that he is joking, but the confusion of that moment is long enough for Caleb to burst out laughing, tears threatening to spill from his warm brown eyes. "Oh, I had you there, Tallboy, you believed me for a second." Ben frowns, but takes a swig from the bottle Caleb tosses his way. Nowadays the Madeira goes down his throat without burning a path. It almost feels pleasant, like Ben can feel his body unwind and his spirit mellow.

"Don’t you ever want to, though?" Caleb wonders, eventually, when Ben has emptied half the bottle and is more open to such prying questions. "Do I want to what?" Ben looks for clarification. "Box the Jesuit, as it were?" Ben's eyebrows are wonderfully expressive.

Caleb grins by way of answer. "It needs to be done, of course," Ben concedes, "But I can never seem to find the time for it."

  
"It’s a two minute job," Caleb wheezes. Ben blushes, a little. "What do you do with yourself? You don’t need to seduce your own cock-" he begins to laugh, probably imagining an elaborate courting ritual that makes Ben bite the inside of his cheek in embarrassment.

  
"Oh?" Ben responds nonchalantly, "What would Caleb Brewster know about it?"

  
"What do I know about your cock, Bennyboy? Other than that it owes me its life after you nearly abandoned it in the Delaware over New Year’s?"

  
Ben raises an eyebrow, still relatively sure that this can be played off as teasing. Caleb has asked him dirtier questions in the dark of the night between a few too many sips of alcohol. He can’t help but push the matter. Alcohol has loosened his tongue sufficiently.

"I reckon I’d do you a better service than you do yourself, Tallboy," he snorts.

  
Ben’s face feels hot, too hot. Can Caleb make out his blush through the candlelight, he wonders? "Very presumptuous of you, Caleb," he forces joviality into his voice.

  
"Careful, Benny, that almost sounds like a challenge," Caleb’s voice is light but his eyes are intense when Ben meets them with his own. Maybe it is the candlelight, but they seem darker. He sits upright on the cot, hands forced still against the edge. Ben opens his mouth to retort something witty, something, anything to backpedal. He's supposed to be good with words. He knows five languages and not one appropriate response comes to mind.

"And if it is?" he finally breathes out, less challenging and more awkward than he was aiming for. Caleb looks him over for a long while. Ben feels scrutinized. His whole body is on edge as those brown eyes rake him over completely. Finally Caleb wipes his hands on his leather pants and gets up. That will be the end of it, Ben almost feels relieved. He expects him to dismiss it, to say something along the lines of _"looks like you still can’t handle your liquor, Tallmadge."_ But Caleb walks towards him, slowly and deliberately, before leaning over Ben’s tense form to blow out the candle on his desk. Now the goosebumps are back.

Darkness envelops them. A few sparse rays of light find their way into the tent despite the closed flaps. Ben feels Caleb, though he can no longer see him. He feels those eyes on him even in the dark, keenly interested but holding back. The rabble outside turns into an amalgamation of camp sounds that makes Ben’s head spin as the silence within his tent continues to be the most deafening noise of all.

And then, Caleb’s hand cuts through the silence suddenly, as Ben feels it between his legs. He sucks in a sharp breath that makes Caleb snort as calloused, sea-worn hands squeeze his thigh firmly.

"If it is a challenge, then you’ve known me long enough to know I won’t back down," his voice is a little thicker than before. Ben tries to make out his facial expression in the dark. Is this still teasing? It feels rather like venturing into undeclared territory. He bites his lip to stop from gasping when Caleb’s fingers dig into the fabric of his pants, searching for an opening to slip through. His fingers are efficient, it takes but a second. When they do and he feels Caleb skin on skin, a moan slips past his lips unbidden. It jolts him back into reality. This isn’t one of his dreams, this is real and very dangerous.

"Caleb," he whispers. "What are you doing?"

"You saying this ain’t what you were getting at?" Caleb’s voice is against his ear, lips grazing the sensitive skin just right. "I’ll stop right now, Bennyboy, but truthfully you don’t seem to mind."

The lightness of tone almost overplays the fact that Caleb is at least equally nervous. He might’ve read it wrong. He might have read everything wrong. From the goosebumps to the glances and everything Ben has said tonight.

  
Ben knows he can offer up no excuse now, not when he is swiftly hardening under Caleb’s guidance. "No," he finally admits, swallowing hard, "No, don’t stop now." He doesn’t even much want to give an excuse. What he wants is more. More of Caleb’s hand, more of Caleb, more-

Caleb’s thumb interrupts his thought process as it swipes across the head, applying steady pressure that makes Ben shiver. Ben’s hands reach out in the dark to pull Caleb closer, holding Caleb tight against him as his movements begin to gain speed. Ben is no longer the only one having trouble breathing. Is Caleb enjoying this too? Tentatively, Ben’s hand searches the stiff, unyielding material of Caleb’s garb for somewhere to snake into. Caleb laughs when Ben makes a frustrated sound after his efforts remain fruitless.

"You’re supposed to be a scout, Tallboy," Caleb laughs, stumbling into Ben further, chin resting on Ben’s head and holding tight. Once his feet are steady once more, he guides Ben’s hand with his own, past the slacks and around his hardness. "You would forever be lost without my help," Caleb teases as he gets back into a rhythm.

Ben pouts a little, but vows to make Caleb pay for his jests, one way or another. His hand is softer, but Caleb shudders against him, just a little, when he jerks him off with one hand and hauls their bodies closer with the other. They must make a very odd pair indeed, Ben seated and Caleb almost thrown over him, so intimately are they pressed together. But neither man thinks about it, lost in it as they are. Ben stifles his noises against Caleb’s chest, where his waistcoat is carelessly thrown open and his shirt desperately needs a wash. Caleb groans into Ben’s hair, teeth catching on it once or twice in the process.

"That’s good, Tallboy." Caleb’s voice sounds choked. "God, that’s-fuck, that’s good."  
Ben spills first, sputtering and groaning against Caleb almost painfully, gasping for air.  
It doesn’t take long for Caleb to follow, quietly but heavily with Ben’s name whispered into the darkness. Both men struggle to even out their breathing, shaking and tightly wrapped around one another. Caleb hears Ben swallow, getting ready to say something. Fear overtakes Caleb. He cannot handle rejection, not right now.

"You’ve had too much to drink," Caleb decides for him, desperate to avoid a confrontation. Not now, he pleads silently. Not now that he has made himself so vulnerable.

"We’ll forget this happened, yeah?"

  
He doesn’t wait for an answer from a still panting Benjamin before he disentangles their limbs, stuffing himself back into his slacks and exiting the tent quietly.

 

+

The next morning Caleb finds Ben in Sackett’s cart, hunched over a desk with the man himself, brooding over a pile of letters. Ben looks over his shoulder and frowns. But what a sight he is, bent over that desk in those pants he outgrew months ago. Admittedly his eyes linger longer than they should before he clears his throat.

"What’s going on here?"

  
Sackett ignores him save for an unidentifiable noise of greeting. He is counting on the fact that Ben will fill him in. Only Ben does not seem to be keen on speaking to Caleb today.

"Looks like we’ve got another assignment for you," Ben finally deigns to tell him. After watching him for a few futile minutes, Caleb decides that Ben is embarrassed about what happened between them last night. Perhaps Ben cannot forget. As for Caleb, he spent the entire night committing every wonderful sound Ben made to memory. Did Ben try to burn the memories of last night from his mind? It doesn’t look like he slept much. As a reverend’s son he grew up hearing about sin on a daily basis. It’s no wonder he would try to avoid Caleb as a result. The bible condemns what they did last night, there’s no question about it. But Caleb’s been at sea for years, where the laws of both men and god are forgotten in the night as bodies move closer together than they should. Caleb has never put much stake in scripture anyway.

  
They were both drunk, Caleb knows, but by god, was it worth it.

  
The feeling of Ben’s fingers digging into him as he lost control for once in his life, the hot spurts of his very essence on his hands, it was all a bit overwhelming for poor Caleb. Even if last night was both beginning and end to that tryst, Caleb will never regret it. It’s enough to sustain him for a while. It will have to be enough.

  
Ben, for his part, frowns for most of the day. Caleb keeps his distance. Ben isn’t like him, his faith is a big part of his life, and Caleb would sooner turn a musket on himself than put Ben in a situation that directly clashes with everything he was brought up on.

 

+

 

"Oi, Caleb," Ben calls after him as he makes to leave the camp, two days later in the dark of the night. Caleb smells the alcohol clearly when he gets close enough, liquid courage.

"What can I do for you, Tallboy?" Caleb closes his eyes for a second while he worries that this is where the accusations will start. Ben’s under-eye bags have grown exponentially since a few nights ago. The thought that Ben is losing sleep over what they did makes Caleb’s stomach turn. Caleb drove him to sin, he knows it. But gods above, he would do it again. He would do it all over again if Ben asked him to and he would regret nothing. Ben won’t ask.

  
"Why did you do it?" Ben demands, eyes clearer than they should be while intoxicated.

Caleb wonders if Ben truly has not caught on to the fact that they push each other into doing ridiculous and often dangerous things.

"You know me," Caleb narrows his eyes, "You must have known that I would jump at the opportunity to-"

"That’s not what I mean," he hisses, stunning Caleb into confused silence. "Leave it to you to turn this into a challenge as well."

  
"Then what, pray tell, do you mean?"

  
"Why did you flee the tent as though my touch burned you?" His voice is hushed but Caleb can tell he wants to scream at him.

"Because you-" Caleb starts, stopping himself mid-sentence. Why did he leave? Because he was certain that Ben would come to regret what they did. Looking at Ben now, he isn’t so sure the reverend’s boy feels anything close to regret. Anger, definitely. Shame, not so much. He wants to ask, wants to know when Ben decided he would not beat himself up over what happened between them. A million questions burn his tongue and Caleb is interrupted before a single one is voiced.

  
"If you are ashamed of what we did then that is one thing. But I certainly wasn’t deep enough in the bottle not to know that it was exactly what I wanted." The words are a whisper, accusing and begging to be understood against his ear when Ben leans forward.

Ben steps back, back to a respectable distance that no passer-by will question. He nods curtly at Caleb before turning on his heel and fleeing.

  
Caleb remains, holding onto his horse as the implications of Ben’s words hit him.

 

+

 

Caleb returns to camp two weeks later, spark in his eye and gleeful until he delivers the intelligence to Ben only to find himself still on the end of Ben’s seemingly endless frowns. The dark circles have not improved either. For the most part Ben ignores him, discussing Culper business but refusing to meet Caleb’s eye. How long will he keep this up, Caleb wonders?

  
"I need a word with you," Caleb finally manages to whisper to Ben in passing. Ben stops in his tracks, head cocked and eyes curious. "In private," Caleb adds meaningfully.

The frown is back on Ben’s face, but he nods. "Sackett’s shack, no later than midnight," Ben orders, before leaving Caleb standing alone in the middle of camp.

Caleb waits an entire hour before Ben shows up. It takes some effort not to fall asleep in the hay, after too many days in the saddle. He hears the door creak and Ben’s unmistakable footsteps enter just as his second hour begins. For all his efforts, Caleb can’t seem to will his heart to slow down. Ben's words have stayed with him these last two weeks. They have turned over in his head in an endless loop, stuck and taunting until Caleb does something about them.

"Caleb?" Ben whispers, rolling his eyes when he sees him emerge from his hiding place. Benjamin grows impatient as Caleb takes his time removing stray remainders of his previous bedding from his hair and clothes. Playing for time because he isn't good with these kinds of confrontations. Give him a weapon, sure. Give him a boat and orders to bring down the largest beasts that roam the waters? Sure. But confessions? Words? He hesitates.

"You wanted a word?"

  
"I want a few words, actually," Caleb clarifies with a careful smile that Ben doesn’t reciprocate. "You didn’t let me get a word in edgewise before storming off like a little hissy the last time."

  
"I don’t have to listen to this," Ben is ready to turn on his heel again. Panic urges Caleb towards him, reaching for his hand. It stops the young major right in his tracks.

"I wanted it." Caleb blurts out. He’s never been the eloquent one of the two of them. Caleb isn’t a Yale man. But now it seems Ben is at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing repeatedly like he should be in a pond. "What?"

Caleb steps closer, squeezing the hand he holds so carefully. He slides his fingers between Ben's, staring at their hands before meeting Ben's blue eyes, so impossibly large and unsure.

  
"I wanted it," he enunciates each word slowly and pointedly. "I’ve wanted to put my hands on you for years, Tallboy. To drag you down to my depths of dubious morals, so to speak," Caleb turns serious. "Never thought you would want me to, but then you did and you know how that story went."

"I don’t understand, Caleb," Ben furrows his brows, "You were the one that fled my tent with your slacks still in disarray. You said we should forget it ever happened."

"I thought you would want to forget it happened." Caleb straightens his back, looking up at Ben. "I was wrong, apparently."

"You are such an arsehole, Caleb Brewster," Ben stammers, disbelievingly. "Who are you to assume what I want?"

"You were drunk," Caleb protests, weakly.

"So were you," Ben retorts hotly, "Did that stop you? Did it inhibit your ability to know you wanted to drag me down to your depths of dubious morals - Which, by the way, is a terrible way to describe what happened-"

"I already said I was wrong, Ben, what more do you want?" Caleb pouts, annoyed now.

"I want you to tell me you won’t do it again. Assume what I want, I mean. You’ve known me my entire life, Caleb. Didn’t you think to at least ask?"

 

For a long time the two of them don’t break the stare. There is a challenge in the air, an unspoken one.

  
Ben’s gaze softens, a little. Caleb decides to take it, as though he could ever actually refuse Ben's challenge. That would be admitting defeat, and the boy who hang onto a tree as the branches snapped beneath his tree has yet to claim anything other than victory.

  
"Well then, Tallboy. Would you object to me leaning in closer and relieving you of that frown before your handsome face stays that way permanently?"

  
Ben snorts, but shakes his head as Caleb leans upwards to kiss him.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this and have any prompts, hit me up. I can write about these two all day.


End file.
